Chester Green has it all living the coveted life as rock’s hottest front man—traveling, partying, and in every city, burying himself between the thighs of a groupie or two. He gorged on the perks for more than a decade until life became dull, and the taste of a woman became bland on his tongue. Nothing excited him. Nothing, until the day life literally crashed into him.

Arianna Garcia is tough, fiery, and doesn’t back down or fall sway to his charms. She isn’t a groupie, making the hunt so much harder and the rewards so much sweeter. His money and fame mean nothing to her.

All he wanted was to relax and release some pent up tension.

Now all he wants is her.

The chase is on.

Bodies grind—pulsed around me while I walked through the dance floor. Sexual tension dominated, fucking controlled the inebriated patrons while they danced to the latest club anthem pumping through its speakers. An erotic tango used to entice their partners. To forget responsibility and follow the member of the opposite sex home.

My heart raced the farther we walked in.

She was here.

I felt it with every fiber of my fucked-up being that inside these walls, a room bursting with people living and laughing, she was here without me.

Without me. Those words burned as I swallowed back my ire and pain.

We had it all at one point. The way our lives meshed seamlessly; the way our hearts recognized in the other that one missing piece. We were happy and in love, until I lost sight of what was important. Until it was too late to right the wrong she’d suffered at the hands of someone I trusted.

Fooled me.

Because of my blindness she walked away from me—from us.

Making my way through the club, I tried to avoid the flirtatious hands that recognized me. Heard the shit they whispered:

“Holy fuck is that…”

“That’s one man I love to bend over for.”

“Heard his cock was huge…I’d let him break me for just a taste.”

Vapid women that saw me as nothing more than a fun night: the rock legend that screwed anything with a pair of tits. The same asshole that, come morning, would disappear.

A fantasy.

Whispers surrounded me, made me uncomfortable. Last thing I wanted to do at the moment was play the persona I was on stage. Fuck them. Let me fucking breathe.

“Hey, handsome.” An overdone redhead blocked my path, her hand splayed over my pecs to stop me from moving forward. “Can I have your autograph?” she purred, the sound anything but sexy. Forced. A practiced maneuver she’d more than likely used to land herself a dick for the night.

“Sure,” I hissed out through a fake smile. “Do you have something for me to sign?”

“Here.” She giggled while handing me a small Bic pen, and I cringed. That sound was nothing like my girl’s soft laugh. Without an ounce of shame, she lowered her top to reveal her bare right breast. Right there, in the middle of that club for everyone to see.

“Sorry.” I grimaced, trying like hell to look genuine in my apology. “But you heard the lady. No can do.”

Before the redhead could respond or give Ashley shit, I walked off and toward the upstairs roped-off section. The VIP section of the Garcia’s club, Deseo, had been cleared and secured for the famous band wanting to let loose at their fine establishment. Would she still be as generous and accommodating if she’d known that the celebrity sitting on her plush leather seats was to be me? The same asshole who’d broken her heart, but after begging her parents, convinced them to help him one final time.

Provided them the proof needed; the lengths I’d gone to get my woman back. As of yesterday at nine a.m. the media knew everything.

A man who loved his female blindly, but let himself become manipulated by the industry. On the bullshit demands to always be someone I wasn’t. All I wanted was to enjoy her. Savor the newness of our relationship without the weight of the world—of my fame—pressing us down.

I’m sorry. Sorrier than she would ever know.

There, at the top, I stood and surveyed the room below while the boys ordered drinks.

The harsh bass and provocative rhythms encased the room, lulled everyone within these walls into a hyperactive sense of want. Lust. Sex.

My eyes scanned the room, desperate to see her. So fucking desperate, in fact, that I’d lowered myself—my pride—and stalked her best friend without relenting. Drove her up a wall until she told me where I could find my girl.

I only had tonight. Leaving, she was taking a small vacation to regroup. Escape from the memories that haunted her as much as they did me.

Did she know that I relived our memories? How I meant every single fucking word I’d said.

“This place is sick,” Ashley complimented the new hot spot I’d reserved for the tonight as she sidled up next to me. “Have you come here before?” Her tone held amusement, something that boiled my blood.

Flexing my hands, I breathed in deep through my nose before answering her. “The owner is a close friend. Amazing person.” She’d done enough to put me in this situation. I wasn’t about to let her off easily. Funny, Ashley sure as hell wouldn’t be sitting here looking so smug if she knew the real reason I’d brought her here.

With furrowed brows, she eyed me shrewdly. “He or she?”

My answer? I raised a brow and turned my attention back toward the dance floor, trying like hell to find her. Those curves I’d memorized while I enjoyed her body. To catch a flash of the soft, light brown hair I loved to wrap around my fist while I dominated her much smaller form.

My girl wouldn’t be made to feel second to no one. Fuck and no.

A song she loved came on, and I chuckled low. “Of course.” How many times had I complained about her love of pop music? Now, I’d give my fucking soul just to hear her sing once more, off key and all.

“Did you say something?” Ashley asked between sips of her drink. I ignored her and continued my search.

“Hey, C., isn’t that Ari down there?” Rick yelled over the music, and every head in our group turned. My eyes zeroed in on her, and my chest constricted. From head to toe, I categorized every fucking inch of her body. Admired the way the low-cut, black-halter dress she wore accentuated her every curve.

“Fuck,” Cris hissed out, and for a fraction of a second, I turned his way. Was enough for me to see the way his vision hardened. How he followed with great interest the direction my girl was in. “I think we should leave.”

His words were harsh, but just below the surface there was also a small tinge of worry.

And so I turned. Like a perverse masochist, I watched as Arianna was led onto the dance floor by some unworthy asshole. How he spoke into her ear. How she threw her head back, laughing at something he’d said.

There was no other way to describe the sounds that emitted from the back of my throat. Loud. Angry. Hurt. An agonized growl that caused the two strangers a few steps away from me to move back a bit.

“Motherfucker’s dead.” Muscles coiled tight, I took in a few deep breaths while a red haze overflowed my vision. Nothing good would come out of me flying over to them in a bout of rage. She’d never forgive me.

“Chester,” Ashley cooed while placing her hand on my chest—a touch meant to calm and sooth the angry beast within me. It had the opposite effect.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I snapped, the storm of emotions brewing within causing me to lash out. Anger spiking, I threw her hand roughly off my chest. It’s because of her bullshit that I was in this mess.

She moved back a bit, a look of fear in her eyes. Not that it lasted long; bitch was persistent and leaned in again. “Cheetos,” she hummed, and I bristled at the childhood name. “Don’t be mad, baby. She’s moved on…look.” Her hand pulled my face to look toward them. “Ari—” Ashley trailed off when I turned my glare on her for a brief moment.

Enough to shut her the fuck up, and then I turned to watch the woman I had lost in the arms of another.

The jackass dancing with my girl pulled her in close as a slow song began. Her smile, sweet and innocent, was blinding. A woman who seemed to be enjoying herself, but they didn’t know her as I did.

Elena M. Reyes was born and raised in Miami Florida. She is the epitome of a Floridian and if she could live in her beloved flip-flops, she would.
As a small child, she was always intrigued with all forms of art—whether it was dancing to island rhythms, or painting with any medium she could get her hands on. Her first taste of writing came to her during her fifth grade year when her class was prompted to participate in the D. A. R. E. Program and write an essay on what they’d learned.
Her passion for reading over the years has amassed her with hours of pleasure. It wasn't until she stumbled upon fanfiction that her thirst to write overtook her world. She now resides in Central Florida with her husband and son, spending all her down time letting her creativity flow and letting her characters grow.